FACE LIKE A SMACKED ARSE (KOTW)

I immediately know something’s wrong. She strides into the hotel bedroom, turns around, grabs my throat and slams me hard against the door. There’s no time to ask what I’ve done to upset her before her hand explodes onto my cheek, once twice, three times. Again, again, again. She slaps unwanted tears into my eyes.

I‘m pushed back onto the bed. She climbs on top of me, still in her street clothes, and slaps me again, four or five times, putting some force into it. It’s brutal, hard to take. Her whole body weight is leaning onto my throat, my eyes mutely pleading up at her until I feel them roll back in their sockets. Then they are snapped back towards her by another stinging slap.

With each blow the skin of my cheek feels thinner, the nerve ends more tender, yet still it goes on. One hand grips my throat, holding me still, while the other slaps one side of my face then the other, the back hand blow a different sensation as the knuckles connect.

This is hard. It’s really fucking hard. But, God it’s really fucking hot too. Each blow pushes my face to one side, but I snap it back, staring straight at her, acknowledging the excitement in her eyes, daring her to do it again.

“Do it!” my look says. “Just fucking do it.”

I’m in deep, oblivious to the growing pain in the flesh of my cheeks, my focus completely on Elita, her eyes wide in excitement, concentration written on her face before each blow.

I am totally in her power, pinned to the bed by her thighs and the hand that is constantly at my throat, yet somehow I feel the strength of my own agency in this. I’m not sure if it’s really an act of dominance and submission or more something hot that we’re creating together  We’re  locked in a battle of equals, challenging each other to take it further, to take it to the very end. 

Eventually I sensed Elita slowing down, though I knew she wanted to continue. She paused and sat back onto my stomach.

“I think I have to stop or your face is going to be horribly marked,” she said. As always she was taking care of me when I was beyond the point of caring for myself.

I was a bit lost and floaty, my face throbbing. We hugged and drank the coffees I’d bought before she arrived because, of course, she hadn’t really been angry, though that had been how I had asked for the scene to set up.  The request for the session had been prompted by the Kink of the Week topic, but in truth I had wanted this since I wrote about a fictional face slapping so intense that just writing it made my heart race. I’d wanted this since reading a scene by Sharyn Ferns that had the same effect.

The expression “a face like a smacked arse” is not normally applied literally, more used to denote someone of miserable countenance, but we joked about how my face really did look like a smacked arse.

But it was time for the final part of our time together, and before long I had an arse like a smacked arse as well! But that’s another story.

What an amazing session!

My original face slapping story is here

A face like a smacked arse

More kink on the theme of face slapping here: